


London Calling

by Britt1975



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: And Then Some, F/M, Fake Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, If you haven't seen the trailer, Mild Sexual Content, Thor 2 Spoilers, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britt1975/pseuds/Britt1975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy’s not an idiot; she read the full text of the non-disclosure agreement she signed with SHIELD, including the fine print specifying that in the event of detainment by a foreign government she was to disavow any knowledge of SHIELD or The Avenger Initiative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	London Calling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distelhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distelhawk/gifts).



> Special thanks to Nessismore and Merideath for offering advice about my one sentence plot bunny, to Twistedingenue for helping me narrow my focus and assuring me that not everything has to have emotional heft, to Puffabilly for fantastic speedy beta services and being fabulous at titles, to all of them for their encouragement and the inspiration they provide with their own brilliantly written stories. 
> 
> This is for Purely_Distel who prompted me awhile back with a trope meme for Clint/Darcy - Fake Relationship.

Darcy rolls her forehead back and forth; the cool surface of the table provides no relief for the headache that’s been building behind her eyes, but she finds the repetitive motion soothing. This is the beginning of her third day as a guest of Interpol, and she doesn’t see an end in sight.

The last two days has been a merry-go-round of people all wanting the same information: The whereabouts of Dr. Jane Foster, what the exact nature of Dr. Foster’s research is and if the man last seen with Dr. Foster was, in fact, Thor of The Avengers. Darcy’s repeated answers of _I don’t know, I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to_ and _who?_ are not the answers they seem to be looking for. But Darcy’s not an idiot; she read the full text of the non-disclosure agreement she signed with SHIELD, including the fine print specifying that in the event of detainment by a foreign government she was to disavow any knowledge of SHIELD or The Avenger Initiative.

The consequences for non-compliance had been distressingly vague but menacing enough to convince Darcy that the private holding cell she was currently occupying was much preferable to the treatment she would receive from SHIELD if she violated the NDA. There had been some additionally vague language alluding to the retrieval of assets held by foreign powers, but Darcy is fairly certain that if she is considered an asset at all, she doesn’t rank highly enough to be retrieved with any hurry.

So it’s a little shocking when she lifts her head at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and jingling keys and sees the relieved smile on Clint Barton’s face.  
“Sweetheart, thank goodness you’re okay.”

Okay. A lot shocking. She’d met Clint briefly in New Mexico during Thor’s first touchdown and again in New York, where they’d bonded over their mutual love of sarcasm and 80’s hair bands, before she and Jane jetted off to London. And yeah, there may have also been some flirting, but she is pretty sure she would remember if they had advanced to the pet names stage of a relationship. Scratch that—she’s certain that she’d remember, because—hello—look at him!

His gray henley is clinging to the defined musculature of his chest, the sleeves pushed up to expose forearms that she is not ashamed to admit having had detailed fantasies about. And even though he’s yet to turn around, she knows exactly what his ass looks like in those jeans he’s sporting. Yeah, she’d definitely remember if he’d ever called her _sweetheart_ in that smoke–and–whiskey voice before.

Of course, when he winks, it only takes her a moment to realize that he’s obviously undercover, apparently as her boyfriend and that she needs to get with the program. Now that the initial shock of his appearance has started to fade, Darcy finds that the relief coursing through her system makes it incredibly easy to work up a shine of tears in her eyes and a little bit of a trembling lip. She doesn’t know if he’s going with his real name, or something else, so to be on the safe side, she decides to just follow his lead.

“Baby, I’m so glad you’re here.” Darcy stands from her chair and wrings her hands as the guard unlocks the door and swings it open for Clint to walk through. She flings herself into the arms that he has spread open for her, wrapping herself around him. “I’ve been so scared, can we go home now?”

“You have 15 minutes.” The guard shuts the door and the sound of the lock engaging echoes in the room.

“What?” Darcy exclaims, pulling back from Clint. “What does he mean 15 minutes? You’re not here to get me out? I thought that SH—”

Clint tangles a hand in her hair and mutters “Don’t hit me,” as his lips cover hers, cutting off what she was about to give away.

Darcy’s eyes fly open and her body goes completely still for a moment before he cups her face in his other hand, tilting her head and gently tugging her mouth open with his thumb on her chin. “I'm gonna need you to work with me here,” Clint mumbles against her lips.

With the barest hint of a nod, Darcy relaxes into his arms. The kiss is open mouthed, but dry with only the lightest pressure between their lips. Darcy knows he’s just putting on a show for whoever’s watching, and she tries not to wish that their first kiss had been more than just a cover. He pulls back from her with an unreadable expression on his face, his thumb stroking her jaw. “You okay?”

Darcy’s not sure if he means about being detained or about his method of shutting her up. “I’ve been better,” she smiles and shrugs. “But I’ve been worse, too.”

Clint huffs out a laugh and tilts his forehead to touch hers. “Christ, I missed you, Darce.”

It’s damned inconvenient the way her heart stutters in her chest when he says that. “They can hear us?” She breathes the words out and is surprised when he shakes his head. Because, why would he say—

“Stark and Banner hooked me up with a subcutaneous signal jammer, it’s enough to cause heavy static to the audio, but they can still see us.” His eyes drop to her lips and he raises an eyebrow. “You’re okay with this?”

She doesn’t lie to herself. The flirty smile she gives him as she tilts her head up to his isn’t for the cameras; she wants him to kiss her again. “What would you do if I wasn’t?”

His thumb is rough as it drags across her bottom lip, and there’s an edge to his smile. “Well,” he ducks his head to rub his lips against hers. “I’d probably try not to enjoy it so damn much.”  
There’s less than a second for her to consider his words before her senses are assaulted by the sensation of his tongue sweeping into her mouth.

There’s nothing dry about this kiss, it’s hot and wet and her nerve endings go electric. She surges into the kiss, sliding her tongue against his and giving in to the urge to stroke her hands up his chest and curl her fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. A little thrill goes through her when he groans and deepens the kiss further, slanting his mouth hard over hers and dropping a hand to her waist, pulsing his fingers against her hip.

She bites back a whimper when he breaks away from her mouth with an almost inaudible expletive. “Fuck, Darce,” he drags his mouth along her jaw to her ear. “I gotta tell you the plan.”

Nodding, she struggles to fight off the shiver that rises up from his warm breath on the shell of her ear. She tucks her face into the curve of his neck and—well—that was a mistake, because now she’s distracted by how fantastic he smells. Clint chuckles against her throat and her face flushes when she realizes she said that last bit out loud.

He drops soft kisses from her throat to her ear as he whispers that Coulson has been working with the American Embassy in London to try and get her released. He mouths her earlobe and she bites down on his shoulder to keep from moaning. “Negotiations have broken down, so we’re going to have to break you out of here.”

Darcy knows she should be feeling scared or anxious about whatever it is they have planned, but it’s hard for her to concentrate on anything other than the heat of his mouth and tongue as they tease her skin and how badly she wants to taste him in return. She licks a line up his throat to his ear and grins when he drops his hands to her ass, pulling her tight against him. She can feel the thick ridge of his arousal and she’s powerless to resist the urge to roll her hips in response. “How exactly are you planning on breaking me out of Interpol?” She whispers, flicking her tongue against his ear.

Clint slides a hand back up into her hair, tugging her head back to make eye contact with her. His gaze is hooded and dark, his lips smirking with the promise of lazy sensuality. “You don’t need the all the details, pretty girl,” his eyes focus on her mouth when she bites her lip at the endearment. “But I’ll hit the highlights for you.” He wraps his hands around her waist, boosting her up to sit on the table.

She tucks her fingers into his belt loops, yanking him forward to stand between her parted thighs and then curls her hand around the back of his neck, drawing his mouth back down to hers. “Well, we only have a few minutes left.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper against his lips. “Better make it look convincing while you do.”

o~0~O~0~o

He’d been on edge from the moment he’d heard about the disturbance in London. And okay, maybe he and Darcy hadn’t been any more than friends who flirted, but he’d been kind of hoping to head toward more, just about the time Dr. Foster had decided to make tracks to London. So when Coulson had called him in and told him that Darcy, a girl he’d been thinking about making a move on, was being detained by Interpol and that it didn’t look like SHIELD was making any headway into getting her released—well, let’s just say that Coulson has now been apprised of Clint’s not-so-secret crush.

Coulson’s impassive face had been… impassive while briefing him on the extraction plan, but Clint was certain that there had been twinkling in his eyes when he’d told Clint that they needed him to go in as Darcy’s boyfriend. The cover would allow him to get close enough (seriously, there was twinkling, dammit!) to Darcy to relay the rescue plans. Not that Clint was arguing, but Coulson stressed that the agent going in needed to be familiar to Darcy. She wasn’t an operative; she would be a liability for an agent who was unknown to her. SHIELD command felt that since she knew Clint, she would be likely to follow his lead. Clint had snorted at that, they had _met_ Darcy, right?

Clint is too much of a professional to admit to being nervous as he works his way from the front desk and through the security checkpoints to get to Darcy. But he’s not going to lie—a lot of tension drops out of his spine when he comes around the corner and gets his eyes on her. He relaxes the rest of the way when only the briefest flicker of confusion crosses her face when he calls her _sweetheart_ ; the girl is no dummy.

He gives her a wink to let her know that everything is okay, but she’s standing there looking lost and scared. And while a part of him thinks that maybe she’s just putting on a show, he can’t be sure. She _is_ a civilian, after all, who’s been in custody for more than two days. And that’s in addition to seeing her boss/best friend get hijacked, probably to Asgard, but since SHIELD's Friends and Family plan doesn’t offer coverage to the other eight realms, they haven’t actually been able to confirm that yet.

So he opens his arms to her as soon as he crosses into the room, and gets rewarded with an armful of warm, soft, curvy brunette. And damn, he’s so distracted by how good it feels to get his arms around her, he almost doesn’t catch her slip. His heart is heavy when he presses his lips against hers to stop her from saying more than she should.

He’s spent a lot of time imagining how their first kiss would be, and this isn’t anything like what he’d imagined. He can’t help the disappointment that rises as he manipulates their position to appear intimate. Once he gets her to relax, it takes every bit of his willpower to keep the kiss light, to stop himself from spinning her around and pressing her into the wall and doing filthy things to her beautiful mouth.

But he isn’t here for that, so he cuts off both the kiss and that line of thought to check in with her—and, of course she shows him, again, why he’s already crazy about this brave, beautiful, funny girl. Christ, he’s missed her, and once he gets her out of here he isn’t gonna be letting her out of his sights again until they have an understanding. ‘Cause this fake boyfriend shit sucks when he wants to be able to kiss her without any pretense.

And suddenly Darcy’s right up against him, looking up at him with those flirty eyes, her husky voice sounding like the very best kind of sin and he can’t stop himself from touching, and kissing, and—god—he needs her to know that he wants to be doing this, with her. That this is about more than just the mission.

For a split second, he thinks he’s misjudged the signals, that maybe it’s all been in his head, but then she’s right there with him. And it’s exactly what their first kiss should have been like. All fire and heat and urgent need pounding in his veins. He wants to breathe her in, absorb her into his skin—turn her around and take her on the table, to hell with the plan. Aw, the plan.

It’s hard to fucking concentrate on the plan when his mind is full of Darcy, the way her skin tastes, her breathy whimpers and gasps, how her lips and tongue feel on his throat, the pleasure/pain of her teeth in his shoulder. And godfuckingdammit, the way her ass fits perfectly into his hands; there is no way she doesn’t know exactly how real this is when she rolls her hips up against him and feels the evidence of how badly he wants her.

He didn’t think it could get any better, but then he wraps his hand in the thick fall of her hair—and he’d be lying if he said he hasn't fantasized about the way her hair would look spread out over his pillow or how it would feel in his hands while she slowly sucked him off, or tumbling around them as she rode him, curling over her naked shoulders and gorgeous tits (he has a lot of fantasies, okay?)—and got a look at her kiss-swollen lips and her lust-dark eyes as he lifted her onto the table. But he just about comes undone when she tugs him to stand in the v of her thighs and challenges him to make his desire for her look convincing. Like he needs any help with that when it’s all he can do to keep from getting started on some of his fantasies, right the fuck now.

Clint grins and slips his fingers up under the hem of her shirt, stroking the smooth skin of her back while he licks into her mouth, dragging his teeth against that luscious bottom lip that’s been driving him crazy since New Mexico. “Best. Job. Ever.”

o~0~O~0~o

The escape was almost anticlimactic; probably a stroke of luck since Darcy hadn’t been able to absorb much of the plan while Clint’s mouth and hands teased her into a frenzy of need. There had been a contained EMP device (courtesy of Tony Stark) and the building wide blackout allowed for an escape into the vents and onto the roof. Darcy was relieved that her contribution had been limited to being ready to move and to follow Clint’s lead. She’d normally balk at being the damsel in distress—but since her distress was mostly between her thighs, she’d been anxious to get out of there and hole up somewhere with Clint to ease the ache that he’d built in her.

The quiet of the sleeping city surrounds them as they make their way through deserted streets to get to the SHIELD safe house, and Darcy is increasingly aware of the distance Clint is keeping between them. The distance isn’t physical, his protective position is close enough that the heat of his body is warming her skin in the chill night air, but the playfully affectionate guy from earlier has disappeared completely behind the Hawkeye persona that he’s pulled tight around him. A sick knot forms in her stomach as she considers the possibility that it had all been for the sake of the operation. _For fuck’s sake Darcy,_ the voice in her head is sharp and bitter, _the guy is a professional spy for one of the world’s most covert agencies; do you really think he’d break a sweat at pulling off amorous boyfriend?_

“Maybe you mentioned it earlier,” Darcy keeps her voice low and aims for casual but there is tension threading through her tone. “But I was a little distracted. What happens now?”

Clint turns his head in her direction, continuing to scan the street as they walk but his lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “It’s all a little fuzzy for me, too.” His eyes shift and travel over her face, lingering on her lips before he meets her gaze. “I’m pretty sure we never got to the part about _‘what happens next.’_ I’m looking forward to it though.”

Her knees go weak at the sudden blaze of heat in his eyes and the dark promise in his tone. Her lips curve into a wicked smile as relief softens the set of her shoulders, “Telling me about it, or doing it?”

Clint marvels that even with the thrum of arousal racing through his veins and the aching need to drown himself in her, she still makes him want to laugh and wrap her up in a hug. He can’t remember the last time when desire was so tightly entwined with affection.

“We'll get to the _doing it_ part later, sweetheart.” He can’t help the grin that breaks out when she merely lifts an eyebrow and gives him a speculative once over. Damn, this girl! “Once we get to the safe house, they’re gonna want to debrief you; if you’ve never been debriefed before, it’s a long and unpleasant process.”

“I thought you pretty thoroughly ‘debriefed’ me already,” she bites her lip and winks at him. “And I kind of liked it.”

Clint groans softly and conducts a quick threat assessment of their surroundings before he yanks her into a narrow alleyway and presses her back to the wall.

Awareness arcs off her skin like mini solar flares as he crowds her against cold bricks, a marked contrast to the heat of his body pressing to the front of hers.

Her beginning gasp of his name is cut off by his mouth capturing hers in a hungry kiss, his tongue demanding entrance to the wet heat of her mouth. Darcy opens to him eagerly and meets his claim with a ferocity of her own. She snatches at the hem of his shirt to get her hands on his skin, sighing into his mouth while she maps the peaks and valleys of his abdomen with blunt nails and impatient fingers.

He jerks his mouth away from hers and curses when her lips and teeth attack his neck, sucking and biting tiny bruises into his flesh. “Dammit, Darcy, you’re driving me crazy. I gotta focus on the mission, but all I can think about is the way you taste and how badly I want to make you fall apart, how you’ll sound when you're screaming my name and begging for more.”

“Oh, god,” A low moan is wrenched from her throat as his words spill over her, burning a path along her nerves. She arches against him, her fingers scrambling for purchase against his back. “Yes, fuck, yes, Clint. Mission later, everything else now.”

Clint palms her ass, lifting her easily as she wraps her legs around his hips and squeezes, crossing her ankles behind him. The inviting heat between her thighs is apparent even through the layers of clothing separating them; he can’t resist grinding against her. The twin sounds of his growl and her moan echo as their mouths meet again; expletives and entreaties falling between them each time their lips part.

With her body anchored between his and the wall, his hands are free to explore, and they go straight where she expects. Skimming up under her shirt to cup and squeeze her breasts, fingers plucking at her nipples through the material of her bra. 

A grin spreads across his face as she shudders against him and tilts her head back, moaning at his touch. “Your tits are spectacular.” His words are muffled as he sucks and licks the smooth column of her throat. “I have intense and complex fantasies about them.”

“I hope that the majority of the fantasies involve you putting your mouth on them.” Darcy’s words are a broken pattern of gasps and moans as her fingers clench rhythmically in his hair. “Because that’s what happens in mine.”

Clint drops his head to the wall behind her and the sound he makes is caught halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Fuck, you can’t say things like that, Darce, not if we’re ever going to get out of this alley.”

“Like what?” Darcy nudges his head up with her shoulder and strokes his arms, humming in pleasure at the way his thick muscles flex and bunch under her hands. “That I have fantasies about you?” She lifts one eyebrow and smirks. “Then you’re going to hate hearing that in the last six months, probably 85% of my orgasms have been while fantasizing about you.” She giggles when he bites his lip and furrows his brow—his face is the very picture of sexual frustration. “And I thought there was going to be tasting and falling apart and name screaming before we left this alley?”

“Darcy I— wait. Who were you fantasizing about the other 15% of the time?”

She lowers her eyes and smiles coyly at him through her lashes. “Natasha. Steve. Natasha _and_ Steve.”

Clint’s face shifts from intrigued to disgruntled to uncomfortably aroused in a span of seconds before he presses a light kiss to her lips and shifts back, helping her lower her feet to the ground the ground.

“We’re gonna talk about those fantasies later, but we’re not having sex in this alley.” The time he’s spent watching her comes in handy; he recognizes the look she gets in her eyes when she’s gathering her argument. He leans in and frames her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with the calloused pads of his thumbs.

“Darcy, the first time I have you is not going to be anywhere that I have to split my focus. It’s going to be in my bed where I can spread you out and take my time exploring your body, searching out every spot that makes you shiver, learning every touch that makes you sigh. Where I can taste every inch of your soft skin, and don’t have to think of anything except how many ways I can make you come for me.”

She’s not at all embarrassed about the whimper that escapes, or the way her eyes glaze over, or even the fact that she can’t really hear for a few seconds because of the rushing sound in her ears. She can’t be bothered to try and master her physiological reactions when every ounce of her self control is being mustered to keep herself from ripping off her clothes and begging him to take her right there. Because while semi-public sex up against a wall in an alley sounds exciting, she knows the reality would probably be a lot like having sex on the beach—great in theory but usually lousy in execution. And though she can’t imagine sex anywhere with Clint being less than spectacular, the idea of all his laser sharp intensity focused completely on her, with no distractions, sounds like maybe the best idea ever.

Then Clint chuckles and she notices the huge shit-eating grin on his face.

“I was talking out loud again, wasn’t I?”

“Yep.” Clint says, popping the p. “We can always find another alley later. If you really wanna give that a go.”

“So...” Darcy bites her lip and gestures vaguely between the two of them. “You want there to be a later?”

Clint takes a step back, swallows hard and decides it’s time to put his cards on the table. “Listen, Darcy. I’m a powder keg of issues. Being with me is never going to be like being with a normal guy.” He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting uneasily. “I’m a lot older than you, I don’t have the most successful track record with women, and then there’s my job.” He looks back at her and starts to reach for her hand before making a fist and letting it fall to his side. “But I like you. I like you a lot, and if you’re willing to put up with all the bullshit baggage that comes with me, I’d like to give this thing between us a real shot.”

Darcy eyes the usually laconic secret agent. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use so many words at once.”

“Darcy...” Clint’s voice is more than a little whiny, and is she crazy to think that’s adorable?

Holding her hand out to him, she grins when he threads his long fingers through hers, calluses rubbing pleasantly against her skin as his hand engulfs hers. “So, can I tell people that Hawkeye is my boyfriend?”

Clint grins back at her, trying to remember the last time he felt this legitimately happy. “You can tell people whatever you want, sweetheart. But later, when you’re screaming my name—call me Clint.”


End file.
